


Who's Chara?

by SilverBirches (Captain_Erika)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Blood and Violence, Gen, Gender-Neutral Chara (Undertale), Gender-Neutral Frisk (Undertale), Selectively Mute Frisk (Undertale), Undertale Genocide Route, Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Erika/pseuds/SilverBirches
Summary: How will Sans cope in the next reset after the first genocide run? Especially if he's certain it was Frisk?
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No guarantees for consistent or timely updates, sorry. Enjoy!

_Please stop, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared, please stop, please leave me alone!_  
The kid’s hands were a frantic blur, the same message repeating on a broken loop.

“whadd’ya want me to do that for? we both know i’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Sans glared at the curled-up child in the snow, his gaze intense enough to make Frisk feel squashed, compressed into the tight ring of bones that caged them. The air steamed with magic and rage. “ **why did you come back.** ” It was aggression, not a question. A blue glow illuminated Frisk, tinting the white snow and making the skeleton seem even more threatening. The tall pine trees loomed over them, murky shadows making Frisk feel even more trapped.

Frisk curled up smaller, melting into the frozen ground to escape his sight. If they noticed the cold they didn’t care about it, instead pressing their tiny body deeper as water began  
to sink into their clothes.

“ **i.** ” Sans took a small step forward. The fresh powdery snow was easily shoved out of his way, specks of it flying into the air and scattering over Frisk as it fell back to earth.  
“ **asked.** ” His eye flared brighter. It was steaming.  
“ **you.** ” His hands left his pockets.  
“ **a.** ” He raised his right arm.  
“ **question.** ”

A blue flash showered the ground; he swung his arm and slammed Frisk into the wall of bones. They cried out as their shoulder connected with the pale unforgiving surface. There was a crack, and Sans didn’t know if it was his cage or not. Didn’t much care, either. 

Frisk crumpled down to the floor, sinking further into the soft snow with their shaking hands not helping to stabilise them. But Sans didn’t offer respite, choosing to jolt Frisk into the opposite side, then back, again and again and again, until the human was ricocheting off every surface in a blur of motion. Each thud drew a gasp until the impacts were so fast they merged together. Sans’ hand was a haze, whirling back and forth as he pummelled the human again and again. 

Sans should have stopped when Frisk’s screams trailed into silence. He should have stopped when red streaks formed trails over the snow. Magic and fury filled his vision, overwhelming his mind with the desire to stop this _filthy murderer_. His power reached out into the world and curled around the tiny body, twisting and crushing. He pushed and tugged, his force starting to melt the snow, causing clouds of steam to rise above the tall treeline. Each action was a more desperate attempt to tear apart the _creature_ screeching before him, shred it to ashes and scatter it before it could decimate his world again– 

A loud sound sliced through his rage. 

“SANS! IT HAS BEEN EIGHT DAYS AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T. RECALIBRATED. YOUR PUZZLES!” A familiar voice boomed from behind him. 

Sans froze. Clarity brought the world crashing down on him, his magic vanishing in an instant, snapping the bone cage out of existence. He stared as Frisk flopped limply to the ground, splashing into the cold pool of bloody water he’d created. 

“SANS! HAVE YOU FOUND A HUMAN YET?”  
He could hear energetic footsteps enthusiastically punting snow out of their path. Definitely Papyrus. Crap. 

“ **no.** ” Sans shoved his hands roughly back into his pockets, not turning to face his brother. His death stare intensified, as if he was trying to wipe the human from existence through pure will. He hoped they could feel his gaze burning holes in their back as the dirty water sloshed over them. 

Papyrus almost stepped back, his good-humoured cheer vaporised. The anger in Sans’ voice was overpowering. He could feel furious magic worming its way through his tone, a near-physical force shoving him away. It was more chilling than the freezing water suddenly seeping into his boots. 

Before he could overcome his shock enough to respond, a weak retch caught his attention. He shifted his view to a darkish wine-coloured patch of snow beyond his brother.  
Maybe Sans was somehow watching him, despite resolutely facing away; as soon as Papyrus’ focus shifted, Sans straightened up, his shoulders seemed to broaden, and he leaned slightly to the side as though to block his brother’s sight. Papyrus scowled at the back of his brother’s blue jacket, ducking the other way to glance around him just quickly enough to catch a faint twitch of movement from what he made out to be a dark puddle of melted snow. 

“SANS! IS THAT A PERSON? DO THEY NEED HELP?” Papyrus’ heart beat a little faster. He was concerned now; snow never melted in the forests surrounding Snowdin. He’d only seen it once, in the aftermath of a local teen’s failed prank – the runaway magic bomb had caused several injuries and damaged a house. But even that amount of power hadn’t melted this much of the enchanted snowpack. If there was this much damage, had something happened here? Had anyone been hurt? 

“ **no.** ” The rumble from Sans’ throat was more chilling than the air. 

Papyrus flinched at the barely-controlled fury in his brother’s tone, but still took a hesitant step toward him.  
“WHAT HAPPENED HERE?” He looked at Sans cautiously, waiting for the logical and pun-filled explanation his brother had no-doubt lined up – or for a business-like voice instructing him on how to help.  
Sans could have been a statue for all the clarification he offered. The slush crept towards them, pool growing and steam escaping from the surrounding ice.  
Papyrus moved forward a little further, bitterly cold water now fully sloshing into his shoes. He peered around his brother, taking a clearer look at the worrisome patch of water; it seemed more… colourful than melted snow should be. Now that he was closer, he could make out a small figure, nearly submerged. It was almost indistinguishable in colour from the murky water, as though it had been soaked in the liquid. He didn’t catch any more activity. He heart sped again and his alarm grew: no monster should be exposed to icy water like this, and if they weren’t moving they could be in danger. Why wasn’t Sans getting them out? 

He strode forward, concern clear on his features. He sank further into the slushy mess of pale pink as he got closer. 

Sparks flashed from Sans, his jacket spitting blue fire and his eye socket pulsing with light. He snapped his arm towards Papyrus, fingers outstretched and power dancing viciously between them. He glared up at his brother, other hand still hidden in the depths of his hoodie. His stance screamed malice and violence. Papyrus could feel the heat of his magic radiating out around them. It felt like Sans was barely holding it in. 

“ **don’t worry about it bro. just go back home.** ” His voice was flat. He was deadly serious, and Papyrus knew it. 

“SANS, WHAT HAPPENED?” Papyrus halted as he repeated himself, water soaking half his shin bones. It was stealing his heat quickly, but it still wasn’t as chilling as hearing words so dismissive in a tone so grave. He stared closer at his brother, taking in the beads of sweat on his outstretched palm and the deep fury seated behind the blue glow in his eye. 

“ **go home.** ” Neither skeleton moved. Their stares remained locked.  
Entwined in a stalemate of willpower, a tiny splash snapped Papyrus’ attention back to his other cause of concern. He broke off his gaze and continued on his previous path. He strode past Sans, ignoring the grasping tendrils of his brother’s magic wrapping around him and trying to tug him back. He didn’t know what was going on here, but he wasn’t about to leave someone in need of help. As he made to take another step, several bones shot out of the snow in front of his feet, blocking his path. He jolted to a stop, staring at the barricade in disbelief. What was Sans doing? 

“BROTHER, THIS IS NO TIME FOR JAPES. SOMEONE MAY BE INJURED.” Papyrus didn’t turn to face Sans, gaze still fixed on the bones. The surrounding snow was much dirtier than it should be in contrast to the bleached enamel. 

“ **it’s nothing.** ” And Sans was standing right in front of him, half hidden behind the bone wall, hands re-buried deep within his pockets. His shoulders seemed slouched again, but Papyrus stared closely, picking out the tension running along his brother’s arms. He felt his own magic flare with indignation, building a slight pressure in his head and a warm burn along his fingertips. He stared down at smaller skeleton, the concern on his face being quickly chased away by an expression that clearly spoke his annoyance. 

“SANS. I AM A GUARD. I MUST CHECK.” 

For a long moment, Sans stood unmoving. Then, as whatever thoughts were battling for control in his mind finally came to an understanding, he sighed at his brother. 

“fine, paps. can’t stop a guard doin’ his duty.” 

The bones slid slowly and reluctantly into the slushy ground, their conjurer equally unwilling to leave – Sans still didn’t move, despite his verbal acceptance of defeat. Papyrus shot him an exasperated look and stepped quickly around him, water sloshing around the two of them. 

Without more interference save the burning gaze on his back, Papyrus quickened his pace, wading through the puddle. 

“HELLO? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” He addressed the small mound in the water. No response. No movement. He leaned down and tried to carefully scoop up the mass. It twitched and wriggled as he began to lift it, and he froze as tiny squeaks of pain and fear emanated from the soaked clothes. 

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” He tried again, but there were no more noises. He quickly reached a decision – maybe there was more context to this situation that he was missing, but whatever had happened could wait. Right now, this monster needed to be healed, stat. 

As gently as he could, Papyrus gathered the tiny monster into his arms, quietly apologising for each squeak as he moved. He turned, striding out of the mushy ruby snow, past his brother. Sans’ hood was up now, hand hidden deep in his pockets. His posture looked relaxed, but Papyrus could still see the stiffness in his pose. But he didn’t have time for that now. He left his brother behind and made his way back along the path, glad that Snowdin wasn’t far, hoping that the little monster could hang on. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I opened my file for this for the first time in AGES, and apparently I wrote another chapter at some point? And I haven't gone through it so here you go

Sans was _seething_. He yanked his hood up, head down, eyes still glaring ahead at that, that _thing_ as Papyrus scooped it up, taking some twisted pleasure at the fear he heard in what remained of Frisk’s voice. He momentarily wondered what Papyrus would have done if he’d just said it was a human. Probably still the same. He was too kind-hearted. His brother’s shadow flew past him, surely in a rush to make it to Snowdin to save the little waste of air. Maybe Sans could have stopped them, but causing any harm to his brother was not a line he would cross. Instead, he stood and fumed for a moment, feeling his magic boil within him, steam spiralling out of his eye socket. He brought his head up, gaze fixed on a nearby fir. If anyone who knew him had seen him at the moment, they would have fled. A wide grin, unsettlingly distant from his usual trademark humour stretched across his face, eyes full of malice and hatred. He let go of the internal cap holding onto his power, needing to release it. He focused, anger filling his mind, magic racing through his bones, eager to be free – whether to escape his rage or enact it, it didn’t matter. There was too much, and it had to go. He strained, guiding the wild strands of power to an exit. His eye burned, and he _pushed_.

The tree flattened. Snow vaporised. He stood in a metre circle of scorched dirt. The air felt lighter. Sans smiled. He stepped out of the burnt patch, a little calmer without the rouge magic racing around. Brushing a few sparks of wild magic off his shorts, he started strolling after Papyrus, wondering if his brother had made it back to their house yet.

~

Papyrus was thankful for his long legs; they had made short work of the deep snow that lay across the path. He’d made good time to Snowdin, but despite his care, the slight jostles of the journey had coaxed a few more tiny noises of pain from the bundle in his arms. Leaning against the door frame to support his charge, he fumbled for the key that lay hidden under freshly-fallen snow on the windowsill. The silver glinted as he retrieved it and shook the ice free. It slid neatly into the lock and turned smoothly, clicking the door open. He quickly strode into the warm, gently pushing the front door closed, and moved swiftly to the sofa. He knelt down, calmly placing the injured monster on the soft cushions. Cautiously, he attempted to untangle the drenched mess. Slowly pulling at what appeared to have once been a jumper caused a slight twitch.

“IT IS ALRIGHT, MONSTER. YOU ARE SAFE NOW AND IN THE CARE OF THE MIGHTY PAPYRUS.” An attempt to lighten the mood perhaps, but his voice was quieter than normal, worry seeping around the edges of his words. “I AM GOING TO REMOVE YOUR JUMPER. IS THAT ALRIGHT?” No reaction. He carefully drew the cloth up, moisture dribbling out of the wool and down his radius and ulna. It was bright red – the dark clothing had masked the colour, but against his bones the crimson streaks were painfully obvious. Did this monster have some kind of slime it needed? Yet another thing to add to his list of concerns about this situation. Turning away, he placed the jumper on the coffee table, phalanges coated in the strange liquid.

Looking back to the sofa, he saw a mop of wet dark hair that the jumper had been covering. A pale face peered out from underneath, half covered in the same redness. Brown eyes stared into space, glazed over and unfocused on their surroundings. A limb Papyrus could now identify as an arm quivered a little, fingers fluttering. The shapes looked familiar to Papyrus, but the movements were weak, the sentence disjointed and the meaning unclear. He caught a few words – ‘scared’, ‘stop’, ‘alone’ – but the others flashed by too quickly.

A new idea forming, Papyrus brought his hands closer to his mouth and carefully signed and spoke together: _You are safe._

He repeated the movements a few times, and by the second loop the little monster seemed to have noticed. They slowly stopped moving, expression calming down.

Taking advantage of the moment of peace that had settled over the sofa, Papyrus quickly conjured his magic, internally twisting its form until it resembled a rudimentary healing spell. He wasn’t a master and these circumstances were far from ideal – but he could see the monster’s eyes drifting shut, and he had a feeling that he shouldn’t leave them untreated. He gently eased his magic out, creating a greenish cloud in the living room. It surrounded both of them, nudging at a bruise on Papyrus’s kneecap - he’d fallen out of bed yesterday - and quickly sunk into the bone, easing out the blemish until it matched the surrounding white.

While his own minor injury was healed, Papyrus had been watching as most of the cloud gravitated to the settee. More and more of it sank into the monster, quickly draining any hint of coloured vapour from the room. For a moment, Papyrus wondered if the spell was enough. But then brown eyes flickered open, and legs and arms started to stretch. They sat up slowly, inspecting the last wisps of greenish smoke vanishing under their skin. They looked around the room, face contorting into an expression of half confusion, half fear. Their eyes locked on Papyrus, and their whole body froze.

Shaken into movement, Papyrus quickly raised his hands, palms out in a universal sign of peace. “I WILL NOT HARM YOU. I AM TRYING TO HELP YOU.” His hands followed his speech, in case the monster was deaf and hadn’t just been unresponsive earlier.

Eyes still wide, tiny hands started to move; _Where is he?_

Not a question Papyrus was expecting, but-

The door rattled.

A key slid into the lock.

It opened.

“leaving someone out in the cold is _snow_ way to treat your brother.”

~

Everything seemed… Slow. The world was moving – bouncing? Frisk had drifted in and out of awareness as Papyrus jogged through the snow. Pain zapped through every bone, fresh cuts stung as fibres worked their way inside, catching torn skin before being ripped free by the motion of their carrier. Everything hurt. The jolts drew whimpers from their mouth without their notice. The world kept moving, then it stopped. There was some noise, some tilting, and movement again. And stop. It felt like they’d been put down. They sank into the surface a little. A gentle tug at their jumper startled them, and maybe there was a sound, but Frisk was drifting further and further towards nothing on the scale of consciousness. Everything felt… Unimportant. The only thing that mattered was the blackness that would take the pain away. It would definitely stop everything, Frisk was sure of that, and the idea seemed quite nice. They were vaguely aware that something touched them, something was separated from them, but it didn’t register in their mind. Maybe they were moving, but their arms felt weak and sluggish. There was someone standing over them, perhaps saying something. The darkness was gathering now, taking the edges of their blurry vision, clouding over the screams of pain from every nerve. It brought calmness and made lavish offerings of the peace found in eternal unconsciousness. It waited for their answer, beckoning.

But then the blackness changed. The centre of Frisk’s world lightened, a bright mist retaking the land lost to the numbness. Emerald smoke soon filled their vision. It felt wonderful. Frisk could feel their body being moved by the haze – bones being brought back into alignment, ligaments tightened and reattached, open wounds knitting together. There was no pain, despite the magic’s diligent work, and Frisk was too busy basking in the euphoria of it to wonder why.

After what seemed like far too short a time, the green cloud started to fade. It cleared from their eyes first, allowing Frisk to study the rest of it melting into their body. They sat up, suddenly feeling a need to be aware of their surroundings. They spun their head around, wet hair flipping around their face. They saw the tall skeleton crouching down opposite them. He moved, starting to say something. It looked like a normal living room, but–

 _Memories flashed through their head. Images filled with violence and blood. Dozens of pictures of their own death battled to be shown. Stabbed, pieced, crushed, thrown, speared, burnt, electrocuted—_ Frisk never realised there were so many ways a human could be killed. One particular set fought its way to the top of the dogpile, demanding to be seen. _A golden hall. Streams of beautiful sunlight_. Frisk’s hands turned white. _A shadow. Conversation, and then—. Death. Again and again and again. An eternity of dying without need or progress._ Frisk’s eyes were huge; any calmness left in their veins was chased out by terror, the way the terrier chases the rabbits from their warren. The icy fear flooded their mind, panic sparking their hands into frantic motions, only one thought on their mind. They had to know; _Where is he?_

And the door opened.


End file.
